


The Runner

by supernaturallylost



Series: Rehabilitation [15]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Nightmares, Self Harm, Trauma, mostly due to trauma, referenced and implied self harm, this is a very vague chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 07:39:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6043546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supernaturallylost/pseuds/supernaturallylost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this chapter, we see the greatest recurring nightmares of Dean, Sam, and Cas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Runner

**Author's Note:**

> This is a deliberately vague chapter that just barely gets you started with what's coming. It won't be happy. Should get back to publishing regularly soon. :)

Heat permeated through the walls and the floor. Dean stood in the center of the room, his back to the wall. Slowly, he turned. Smoke lashed him in the eyes like small whips to his vision. Tearing up, he turned, squinted, and tried to find someone.

“Sammy!” he yelled.

The smoke entered his mouth. It tasted of soot, and he gagged loudly. His throat seized and he bent over with his hands on his knees. Sweat dripped from his eyebrow to his nose. Wheezing, he tried to speak once more.

“Help!” he coughed.

Tears fell down from his eyes as the smoke began to overpower his sight. He blinked forcefully and tried to breathe. He fell to his knees, his hands flat on the floor to keep him up. He blinked again, looking at his hands. They were small – too small. They were childish.

When he looked up again, he saw a baby in front of him. Sam, barely half a year old, was surrounded by the fire. Dean looked at his hands again and could not breathe. Finally, flames reached the room, devouring them both. In the distance, Dean could hear a woman scream.

* * *

 

Cold permeated through the leather seats and the glass windows. Sam sat in the back of the impala underneath all of his clothes. When he looked around, he was alone, and the temperature was dropping. He blinked, and the air seemed to splinter at the movement, sending shards of icy air into his eyes. He blinked again and breathed in.

The air solidified in his throat, freezing the movement of air. Sam heaved over and coughed. The air was scratching his throat, his eyes, his face. He felt like he was surrounded by thousands of shards of glass.

“Dean!” he screamed.

As he drew in the next breath, he tasted the chilly and musty scent of the impala. He gagged again, leaning over the seat. The cold was stroking his skin through all of the clothes. Soon it would reach his heart and coax it to rest. He knew he would die in minutes.

“Help!” he wheezed, clutching his chest for warmth.

He looked down at his hands and saw that they were small. They were childlike. When he looked up, he saw a child in the front seat. A seventeen year old Dean sat in the driver’s seat. His jacket was among the pile atop Sam. Sam watched Dean’s lips turn purple. They were going to die.

Slowly, the cold devoured them both. In the distance, Sam heard an engine rev.

* * *

 

Nothing moved. Not people, not air, and not even time. Castiel blinked the tears from his eyes and looked around. From the side, he could see a reflection of himself. He was paused in the middle of a sprint with one leg high off the ground and the other flexing strongly against the impact of the sidewalk. Cas frowned at his reflection and looked down. He wore a navy suit and a beige trench coat.

“Father,” he whispered.

A buzzing sound grew in his ear until he felt the wind on his face. All of the sudden, he was running again.

“Castiel!” someone raged from behind him.

Cas looked back and saw his brother, blade in hand.

“Get back here, Castiel! You will pay for disobeying our father!”

Cas raced onward. As he did, he felt wounds opening on his arms. Knives scraped against his skin over and over again. He knew this was the beginning of the end.

“Brother,” he shouted over his shoulder, “I am sorry!”

“You destroyed our home!” his brother answered.

Another of his brothers appeared to the side, and Castiel raced around him.

“What have you done?” the second brother screeched.

“I’m sorry!” Cas answered. “I believed I was doing the right thing!”

He ran, wind in his ears, and felt the blood pour from his arms. He panted and avoided yet another of his brothers appearing from the other side.

“Castiel,” this brother wept. “You have ruined us all. Why would you do this? What did we do wrong?”

As he continued to run, tears falling from his face, he felt the ground shake. Like sand beneath his feet, the ground began to fight him, trying to pull him down and stop him from running. Sweat dripped down his face from the effort of running.

While he moved onward, he looked down at his wrists. They were scarred, old, bloody, and bruised. He looked up again and saw nothing. The ground beneath him had reached his knees. He was trapped, though he tried to run further.

Suddenly, he saw a newspaper fall before him. The headlines told about the fall of the Novak family from the government of the city. Shamed and humiliated, the family was to be run out of town. Cas looked up at his brothers and sisters, circled around him. Their blades were gone, replaced with flowers.

“You did this,” they said. They dropped the flowers onto him, where he stood trying to run. “You are dead to us, Castiel. You are no longer our brother.”

In the distance, Castiel could hear a crowd cheering.


End file.
